photo by: Patrick Cummings
The September of my sophomore year of college, I convince my father and brother to loft my bed onto my desk and bookshelf. It is a common dorm room design where I live, I explain. Later that night, my father calls, insisting I take my bed down. I'll be fine, I assure him. And I am fine for the first three weeks of the semester. But then one Saturday night in late September, while waiting for my boyfriend, Scott, to call, I fall asleep and at 3a.m when the phone rings, I fall six feet to the floor, reaching for the ring. My stomach and chin bounce on the hard floor. I grab the green receiver, and press it to my ear. Dial tone.
Now awake and crying, I call out for help. Adam, my roomate's boyfriend, jumps down from her lofted bed and hugs me, unsure what else to do. I ask him to turn on the light and he stumbles to the switch. Sharp white light reveals there is red everywhere. I run to the bathroom across the hall. The tiles are cold under my feet. Before the mirror, over a low sink, I tilt back my head to see my chin. Soon Adam is swinging the door in. “I have Neosporin and Band-aids in my room.” He says. “Adam. there is a hole in my chin” I say, pointing to my face. “I’ll get my car.”
Back in the room, I return Scott’s phone call. “Hey.” I say. “Hey.” He says. “When you called a minute ago, I fell off my bed and now I have a hole in my chin and Adam and Masha are taking me to Health Services.” I say quickly, hoping to stir some sympathy. “Ok.”
At Health Services, I ring the “Emergency Only” bell and two nurses run to let us in. I thank them, a towel balled and pressed to my chin. They are surprised to see someone sober, they tell me.
Now awake and crying, I call out for help. Adam, my roomate's boyfriend, jumps down from her lofted bed and hugs me, unsure what else to do. I ask him to turn on the light and he stumbles to the switch. Sharp white light reveals there is red everywhere. I run to the bathroom across the hall. The tiles are cold under my feet. Before the mirror, over a low sink, I tilt back my head to see my chin. Soon Adam is swinging the door in. “I have Neosporin and Band-aids in my room.” He says. “Adam. there is a hole in my chin” I say, pointing to my face. “I’ll get my car.”
Back in the room, I return Scott’s phone call. “Hey.” I say. “Hey.” He says. “When you called a minute ago, I fell off my bed and now I have a hole in my chin and Adam and Masha are taking me to Health Services.” I say quickly, hoping to stir some sympathy. “Ok.”
At Health Services, I ring the “Emergency Only” bell and two nurses run to let us in. I thank them, a towel balled and pressed to my chin. They are surprised to see someone sober, they tell me.
In the back room, a friendly doctor sews my chin shut with eight small black stitches, while I listen to a young man in the next room, through slurred his speech, request that he be released.
Scott is in the waiting room when I walk out.
The four of us return to my and Masha’s dorm room. We climb up to our lofted beds and finish sleeping. Scott sleeps on the outside to keep me from falling, and the next morning, my bed is returned to its purposed place on the floor.
No comments:
Post a Comment